Previously on Hidden Fragments:
After a long and dangerous journey, Marisa and Ronan finally reached the hermit Elior, only to discover that Calen had already left in search of the final Scrolls. Their disappointment turned to overwhelming joy when Calen returned safely, carrying the last missing Scrolls, including Genesis and Revelation. At last, all sixty-six Scrolls of God’s Word had been gathered.
But the mission was far from over. Elior revealed that the Scrolls must now be copied and spread throughout the land, while he himself would travel alone to Ömstead to confront the terrible Image of the Council of Twelve. As dawn approached, the friends prepared to part ways, trusting that God would guide each of them in the work He had set before them.
Chapter 51
The Invisible Twelve
The moment Captain Drenick arrived in Ömstead, he had ridden straight to the local headquarters of the Council of Twelve to report for duty.
His heart soared. Excitement coursed through him, tingling all the way to the tips of his fingers. He would finally get to meet the Council of Twelve in person. That was an unspeakable honor and he had rehearsed at least ten different speeches for the moment he would stand face to face with the benevolent leaders of the country.
Strangely enough, he had never been to Ömstead before. He wasn’t a man given to much travel, but today was an exception. He had to admit it was refreshing, to say the least. Finally, he could enjoy something other than the grey prison walls where he served as overseer.
As he guided his horse across the empty marketplace toward the imposing office of the Council, he could not stop staring. So this was… Ömstead?
The square was filthy and grimy, though Drenick was accustomed to such things. He had been told that the marketplace was usually packed with wooden stalls and shouting merchants, while citizens and country-folk pushed their way through the chaos, carefully avoiding the heaps of rubbish that people habitually tossed onto the uneven cobblestones.
Today, however, the square was devoid of stalls. Workmen hurried back and forth, preparing for tomorrow’s grand celebration.
As he crossed the square, the local headquarters of the Council came into view. His breath caught and he could not suppress a feeling of awe. While the overall atmosphere in Ömstead spoke of poverty and decay, the headquarters radiated wealth, power and might. It was a palace, really. He stopped his horse for a moment to drink in the sight while he imagined what was going on inside.
Everything happened there. New laws were conceived and written. Here stood the headquarters of the glorious Book of Order.
And he, Captain Drenick, had been summoned to this place. He, unworthy and small, yet a humble and faithful servant of the Council.
A broad marble staircase led to a landing flanked by two immense pillars that framed a massive wooden door. Before it stood a heavily armed guard whose grim face stared blankly into the distance.
If Drenick were completely honest, he could not deny that the colossal building stood in stark contrast to the miserable houses surrounding the marketplace. Those crooked dwellings seemed ready to collapse under their own weight. Their peeling doors and windows, together with the roofs and their shaky chimneys from which pale, foul-smelling smoke curled upward, was clear evidence that not everyone in Ömstead lived well.
No matter. The Council deserved its prosperity. Its members worked tirelessly, day and night, for the welfare of ordinary people. If everyone would simply obey the Council of Twelve, then everyone would prosper.
The blame for the poverty rested squarely with those wretched Christians and their so-called Scrolls. They filled people’s heads with dangerous ideas. They claimed there was a better King than the Council and a better book than the Book of Order. They spoke of an Almighty Creator who ruled from beyond the clouds and had fashioned the world with a mere word.
Preposterous. Luckily, all that would soon come to an end. Tomorrow, the Image of the Council of Twelve would be unveiled here in the marketplace.
Everyone would be required to honor and worship it. What a proud moment it would be to witness such an occasion. It would be one great celebration. The power of the Council would be revealed, the Christians would finally be dealt with, and everyone would be free to drink, dance and worship.
He halted his horse near the palace and dismounted. His heart pounded as he climbed the staircase.
Now he would meet the Council of Twelve for the very first time.
Strange, really. He had served the Council faithfully all his life, yet like everyone else, he had never met a single member, nor spoken with any.
Undoubtedly that was because the members of the Council stood so far above him and every other citizen, in wisdom and authority, that they simply could not mingle with common folk.
Fair enough. He understood.
“Out of my way,” Drenick commanded the guard, who eyed him suspiciously. “I need to enter.”
“Only invited guests may enter,” the guard hissed back without moving aside.
“Yes, of course,” Drenick replied irritably. The guard could hardly be expected to know who he was. He rummaged through his satchel and pulled out a letter.
“Here. My authorization,” he declared loudly, holding up the Council’s seal at the bottom of the page. “I have been summoned here for instructions regarding the Great Image. Let me pass.”
The guard examined it, nodded and stepped aside.
The door swung open and Drenick entered.
He found himself in a circular reception hall. Great statues of heroes from ages past stood around the room, while elaborate portraits hung upon the walls, displaying stern-faced ancestors glaring down at visitors.
The marble floor gleamed from careful polishing, though an odd smell lingered in the air. It was not exactly unpleasant, but neither was it fresh. It reminded him of the barracks filled with sweaty, unwashed bodies.
Or perhaps it was garlic.
Directly ahead stood a sturdy desk behind which sat a man clad in shining armor. Hard eyes studied Drenick.
“What can I do for you?” he asked in a brusque voice.
Drenick looked at the man with open disdain. He was not accustomed to being addressed in such a manner. Drawing himself up, he said through clenched teeth, “Drenick. Captain Drenick. The Council is expecting me.”
Before the man could respond, Drenick tossed his invitation onto the desk.
“See for yourself.”
The man nodded. “You are late,” he said sternly as he examined the letter.
“What do you mean?” snapped Drenick. “I traveled here directly. I have come a long way.”
“So you have,” the man replied without emotion. “The Council is waiting for you.”
After reading the letter, he picked up a bell and shook it vigorously.
At once a small hunchbacked man appeared. “Yes, sir,” the little fellow panted. “What do you require?”
“Inform the Council that Captain Drenick has arrived.”
“Yes, sir.”
The little man turned and hurried away.
“And you,” the man behind the desk continued, “need to go there. Through that door.”
He pointed toward a doorway Drenick had not noticed before.
“That is the Chamber of Voices.”
Despite his pride, Drenick suddenly felt small and awkward. The name alone sounded ominous.
What voices?
Everything he had seen so far had made him feel smaller than he cared to admit. But what had he expected? He was in the presence of greatness and the Great Ones thought he was late.
He had already disappointed the Council, and that was hardly a promising beginning.
He licked his lips and strode toward the door. It was a heavy oak door, and when he reached it he hesitated, unsure what to do next.
Was he supposed to knock?
“Open it, man,” the clerk called from behind his desk, irritation evident in his voice. “You’re only making yourself later.”
Drenick took the plunge and the door opened with a loud creak.
Beyond lay a spacious chamber with stained-glass windows. Small groups of men stood gathered throughout the room, dressed in their finest attire. Soft murmurs of respectful whispers filled the air, and Drenick immediately understood why.
A sacred silence hung over the chamber, one that must absolutely not be disturbed.
At the far end of the room hung a heavy curtain. What lay behind it was impossible to tell.
Drenick hesitated.
What was he supposed to do now?
To his relief, he spotted several familiar faces among the crowd.
There stood his old friend, Captain Droskar. Beside him stood a captain he did not recognize, though the crest upon his tunic bore the arms of Ömstead. Presumably this was the city’s captain. A cruel man, known as Captain Malren.
Should he just walk up to them?
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and as he turned he heard the words, “You are late, my friend.”
“Slink!” Drenick exclaimed a little too loudly. “Good to see you…”
The disapproving eyes of the other guests immediately settled upon him, and he swallowed the rest of his words.
“Later,” Slink said almost inaudibly. “We have much to discuss. But that is for later. I am glad you are here. Our meeting with the Council is about to begin.”
Drenick nodded respectfully, as if he were in the know as well.
It was then that he noticed another gentleman standing beside Slink, a man Drenick had never seen before.
A lanky man with deep-set eyes.
Not a soldier. That was obvious at a glance.
Slink noticed Drenick studying him and whispered, “Let me introduce you to a loyal servant of the Council. A jewel to the kingdom.”
He turned to the man. “Sylvaine, this is Captain Drenick, overseer of our biggest and much-needed prison.”
The man extended his hand and said in a low voice, “Vrax. Sylvaine Vrax. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Drenick,” Drenick whispered as he shook the man’s hand.
At that moment the deep sound of a great gong echoed through the chamber.
Everyone stopped talking.
An icy silence settled over the room. The meeting was about to begin.
***
The curtain rose ever so slowly.
A stage appeared, and upon it stood twelve seats. Thrones, really, for they were magnificent in structure. In the armrests and legs, glittering jewels had been embedded and deep red velvet cushions covered both the seats and backrests.
A soft murmur of delight and reverent awe rose from the onlookers, and Drenick felt himself shrink even smaller than he already was.
Only…
No one sat upon the thrones.
Drenick blinked. At any moment now, the members of the Council of Twelve would emerge from behind the curtain. He could already imagine the applause and cheering.
Deafening. Glorious… breathtaking.
But no one appeared.
He turned toward Slink to ask for guidance. Slink had dealt with such matters before and would surely know more. But before he could speak, a voice rang out.
No, it was more than a voice.
It was voices.
Twelve voices speaking at once, all uttering the same words in perfect unison. Loud, but not too loud. Clear and spoken with such force that one simply had to listen. It was the sort of sound that haunted nightmares, yet Drenick found it beautiful. Fearsome and majestic, it stirred something deep within him, filling him with both dread and wonder.
“Welcome, faithful servants of the kingdom,” the voices said.
Drenick felt his mouth fall open and his lips grow dry. It was as if a separate voice came from each throne. Different, yet in complete harmony.
Some voices were high and delicate, others low and hoarse.
At least two voices belonged to women, and there was even a child’s voice among them.
Drenick saw several of the assembled guests fall to their knees, stretching their arms upward in worshipful adoration. That felt excessive to him, but when he saw Slink kneel as well, he quickly followed, so as to not stand out.
“We stand at crossroads,” the voices said. “Tomorrow, we enter the final stage before we may celebrate complete victory.”
Drenick gasped, trying to catch his breath. The voices rolled over him like a waterfall, overwhelming him with their surging power. As the voices broke off, they left behind a faint metallic whisper that seemed to hang in the air a moment too long.
Strange, but everything was strange in this place.
Silence fell, broken only by the occasional cough or the tense shifting of one of the guests.
Then the voices resumed, though no longer all at once. A harsh, deep voice came from the throne farthest to the left.
“Tomorrow our mighty Image shall be revealed.”
The statement broke off again with that same strange lingering hiss but was immediately followed by a high female voice from the adjacent throne. “First in Ömstead, and thereafter in all our beloved cities.”
And so each voice spoke in turn.
The message was unmistakable. All those gathered in the Chamber of Voices were here to preserve the pure light of the Book of Order. Any person who refused to bow before the Image was to be arrested at once. They would be given a final opportunity to repent, but if they refused, judgment would be inevitable. The land must be cleansed of all corrupting elements.
One decree followed another until Drenick’s excitement began to fade. At times the voices spoke individually but at other moments, especially when emphasis was required, they spoke in unison, loud and terrifying, yet it lasted so long that eventually Drenick could no longer make any sense of any of it and was simply hoping it would soon end.
One thing he did not understand.
Why did their leaders not reveal themselves? He had so eagerly looked forward to seeing who truly wielded authority, and had even prepared a list of questions to ask one of the Twelve in person.
“Are there any questions?” the twelve voices thundered together. The sound jolted Drenick upright.
Questions? Yes, he had some.
He looked around. No one else seemed willing to speak. Most were on their knees before the twelve thrones, while others stood with clasped hands and bowed heads as if in prayer.
What troubled him most was, why no one could speak with a member of the Twelve personally. He wanted to know so many things, but not in public. He knew better than that. But… would he dare ask?
What did the Book of Order say about this? Drenick, who had memorized large portions of it, immediately recalled a passage he had never fully understood, but which appeared to encourage honesty:
“Let it be known that honesty, when sufficiently processed through the appropriate channels of sanctioned expression, is considered both safe and desirable, provided it does not arrive prematurely, excessively late, or in a form that causes administrative uncertainty among the properly trained observers of truth.”
Yes, he should ask.
He cleared his throat, raised his hand as if he were in a classroom, and said, “Most Honored Council members… if you will forgive me, I have a brief question.”
“Captain Drenick…?” one of the voices said. “If I recall correctly, you were the one who was late. We had to wait for you. And now… you have a question?”
“Y-yes, your… um… eminence. I am sorry I was late. I came as soon as I could. I am your humble servant and seek forgiveness for such a dreadful offense. Just one question. It’s all I ask.”
It remained still for some time, but at last, one of the women voices answered. “Your request is granted, Drenick. Be quick.”
“I am grateful, noble ones,” Drenick said. “My request is simple. I have many questions I would like to ask one of you personally. Would it… Would it be possible to talk to one of you in person? I’ve been serving you all of my life, but I am not sure who I am serving.”
From somewhere on the right, he heard someone mumble approval, and from the corner of his eye, he saw another captain nod. So, he was not alone in his desire.
That encouraged Drenick and he added, “A humble servant wishes to know his masters personally.”
There… he said it.
But the silence that followed was disheartening.
No one spoke a word.
Just when Drenick considered saying he was mistaken and did not really have any such a wish, the voices spoke at once with a force that rolled over Drenick like a carriage drawn by twelve horses.
“You are not sure whom you are serving?
Silence followed. Drenick could hear his own heartbeat.
“An unusual confession,” the Council of Twelve continued. “In fact, a troubling one. You see, Drenick, do you really think anyone can just enter our holy hill of blessing? You, a mere prison guard, a man faulty in word, deed, and character, are very far away from such a privilege.”
“No, you are mistaken… I mean… um… I am mistaken,” Drenick cried out. “I am grateful. I have no questions. I know whom I serve. There’s no doubt about it.”
“But there is a doubt,” the Council members fired back in unison, their voices sharp as arrows dipped in a poison that destabilized Drenick completely.
“Your question shows your heart is divided. You have demonstrated a regrettable inability to reconcile personal uncertainty with established Council truth. Have we, as the Holy Council, not been sufficiently clear?”
“V-very clear,” Drenick stammered. “Forgive me for my insolence. I am but a worm.” He looked around, hoping for support from the few voices that had encouraged him before. People looked away or to the floor.
Again, icy silence that felt like an eternity. Somewhere far away, outside in the marketplace, someone was hammering wood.
Then one of the voices answered, a haughty female tone that seemed to cut into Drenick’s very soul.
“What are we to do with you, Captain Drenick?” Her voice ended abruptly with that strange metallic whisper.
“Have mercy,” Drenick shouted, bowing even lower before the thrones. His heart pounded in his throat and he knew every eye in the room was upon him. “I never, ever had the wish to upset you.”
Another voice, dark and authoritarian, answered immediately.
“Then why do you seek to see, when obedience and loyalty are the only paths to joy? Why do you seek that which we, in our wisdom, have concealed from you?”
“I truly only seek to honor you,” Drenick stammered, but tears welled in his eyes and his words were barely audible.
Then the throne with the child’s voice cried out sharply: “I am afraid of this man.”
The throne far to the right immediately added, “You see what such rebellious doubt will bring, Captain Drenick. Even the most innocent among our members is shaken.”
“I didn’t mean it,” Drenick howled.
“And yet, you did,” came the reply. “But to show you how merciful we are, we will let your peers decide what to do with you.”
“M-my peers?” Drenick stammered. “What do you mean?”
“Your fellow captains,” the Council of Twelve explained. “Doubts lead to rebellion. In fact, you are guilty of the same sin as those Christians and that, as you know, is the only transgression for which there is no forgiveness.”
A murmur surged through the crowd of the other onlookers. Slink looked up, His eyes met Drenick’s. They were dark and menacing and both he and Sylvaine Vrax moved away on their knees as far as they could without causing a stir. Nobody wanted to be associated with him.
“Well…” spoke the entire voice of the Council of Twelve in unison. “What are we to do with this doubter in our midst?”
“Arrest him,” one shouted.
“Lock him up in the deepest dungeon,” another shouted.
“He is a disgrace,” a voice near him said. That was Slink. “I have known this man for years and always had my doubts about him. It shows we cannot be careful enough,” Slink said.
Drenick cast him a helpless stare, but saw no compassion.
Sylvaine Vrax looked away. “Traitor,” he muttered.
One more voice from the twelve thrones, the oner farthest to the right and the darkest one in the bunch, spoke again. “Captain Drenick, you have failed to observe the proper channels of sanctioned expression. Your so-called honesty, which is only the seed of rebellion waiting to spring to life, has caused the administrative uncertainty that we, as the Council of Twelve, cannot allow to persist.” He paused for a moment, but then all twelve voices roared in unity, “Guards, arrest this man.”
No one rose for Drenick. Everyone understood the iron hand of the Council of Twelve.
The door flew open and two heavily armed guards stepped inside, seized Drenick under the armpits and dragged him away.
Only then did Drenick realize he was crying.
He was doomed.
There was no doubt about it.